The Girl Who Dared to Think Page 19

  I frowned. “Okay, so let me get this straight—there’s a line for water and a line for the poison. This valve controls which one does what?”

  “Kind of. It’s like how you can adjust the ratio of cold and hot water in your shower. Same thing here, but it’s been modified to only have two positions—open and closed. I’m guessing it was designed to look like this to be overlooked by anyone making repairs. It’s a common enough valve to be overlooked. Hiding in plain sight.” There was a click, and Zoe smiled.

  “And just like that, Zoe saves the day. I’ve adjusted it so that the opening sits farther back, so that when the button hits, it will still block whatever it is they are dumping in there from getting in.”

  “Really?” That sounded too easy.

  Zoe nodded and stood up again, presumably to put the part back in. She fiddled around for a few more minutes and then lowered herself back down, her hands filled with tools and more smudges than before. She wiped some sweat forming on her forehead, leaving behind a black streak, and held out her hand for the grate. I handed it to her, and she slipped it over the pipe and began reattaching it to the ceiling.

  “So, there is one problem,” she said as she worked, and I nodded. Of course it couldn’t be that simple. Nothing ever was.

  “What?”

  “I had to break it to fix it. So anyone they try to gas in that room after this is also going to survive.”

  “Good,” I said, and she nodded.

  “I agree, but it’s only a matter of time before they call someone in to take a look at it. Once they do, they’ll find the valve and see that it is damaged.”

  “Can’t we just come back here and fix it afterward?” I asked, but Zoe shook her head.

  “The entire part needs to be replaced, and as a Roe, I can’t requisition parts.” She looked at me, her eyes wide. “Look, they’ll examine it, and they’ll either think it’s a manufacturing problem, or...” She trailed off, but I didn’t need her to finish. When they found the part, they might figure out it had been tampered with.

  “Is there any chance we can—”

  I was cut off by a lash spinning up past my ear and connecting to a pipe above me with a flash of blue. A heavyset form twisted up through the air and jerked to a halt next to me, bobbing on the line. I looked over and stared into Gerome’s hard, flat eyes.

  “Gerome,” I said, feeling sweat break out on the back of my neck. How had he known we were down here? Was this room monitored? Oh, God, could he have been listening in?

  “Squire,” he said with a nod. Then he looked to Zoe. His expression twisted slightly when he saw her number, but he held his derision at bay. “Roe.”

  Zoe had grown pale, but she managed a little wave before turning back to the ceiling.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He gave me a sharp look, his eyes flicking over to Zoe and then back to me in silent warning, and I got the message: she wasn’t supposed to know about the prisoners above, and what was being done to them. I held on to that, comforted by it, as it meant he had no idea what we were up to. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t figure it out. With my outburst earlier... and now we were down here... it was too soon. He was going to figure out we were doing something to the cell, unless I was the very essence of calm and collected, and gave him nothing to doubt.

  “I was... concerned about you after the vein of our last conversation,” he stated flatly. “And I felt like I owed you a bit of an apology. You were right to stop me when you did.”

  An apology? From Gerome? I looked over at him and saw kindness there, but it was hard to reconcile the kindness with the man who killed people, and I looked away. “Thank you,” I said, summoning up the neutral face and voice needed to deal with him.

  “Imagine my surprise when I found out from the Eyes that you were in here. What are you doing?”

  “She’s here with me,” Zoe announced, fitting the pipe back to the hole. “And I’m just here doing some checks on the piping, checking for corrosion or leaks.”

  “Is this an assigned task or...?”

  “Not assigned,” I said, knowing that if he checked, we’d be found out. “Roe Elphesian is one of the more overzealous members of Water Treatment. She tends to take on extra responsibilities, while I accompany her to learn.”

  “I see.” Gerome looked around the room and nodded. “It’s good that you want to learn more. We would all benefit from it. I just have to wonder, are you considering a transfer?”

  His words were delivered casually, but I could feel the potential bite of anger building. He didn’t approve of transfers. Luckily, I had no intention of transferring.

  “Not at all. I am just doing everything I can to make my skills more versatile. You can never tell when something will break down.”

  “That’s true. Very well. I’m glad I caught up with you, but you appear to be busy. We’ll talk more on patrol tomorrow?”

  “Of course, sir,” I said as I activated the gears in my lash harness to lower myself to the ground I had spent the last forty minutes dangling over. “I’d be happy to.”

  Gerome landed heavily beside me, choosing to drop straight down instead of lowering himself like I had, while Zoe climbed down using the pipes. “Good. Well, you two keep busy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He left as quickly as he had arrived, but I still waited for several long seconds before I let out a pent-up breath. Beside me, Zoe was doing just about as well—although her hands were shaking violently, as if she were experiencing extreme cold.

  “You okay?” I asked, and she nodded.

  “Yeah, but... I would very much like to get home.”

  “Me too,” I replied automatically, then realized that no... I didn’t. She looked over at me and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

  “Hard part’s done,” she said. “Now it’s up to you to get him the pill after you ‘gas’ him.”

  “Yeah,” I said, a touch bitterly. “Let’s just hope he realizes what’s going on, and fakes it.”

  “Think he knows any Callivax?” she asked hopefully, and I shrugged.

  “Don’t think it matters,” I replied, motioning for the tunnel that led to the exterior of the Citadel—back the way we had come. I wanted us out of the room sooner rather than later. “The window in the room is one-way glass.”

  “Turn on the lights in the main room,” Zoe said as she slipped into the crawl space. “One-way glass only works when the room is dark. Sign him the message using the basic alphabet—everyone had to learn that in primary school. If you make it look like the lights got turned on by accident, and keep the hand movements small, I doubt Gerome will even notice. We’ve come this far. Only two more steps.”

  Sure, I thought to myself as I dropped to my hands and knees to follow. And then I hope Zoe’s fix works—because if it doesn’t, then I’ll end up killing someone.

  18

  The next morning I woke up early. Too early, really, but I couldn’t sleep any longer. I was too apprehensive about what I was about to do, and I had spent most of the night tossing and turning. After a while, I realized sleep just wasn’t going to happen. So I worked out—push-ups, sit-ups, and squats, followed by a hot shower. I wasted an hour playing with my hair. Remembered to use the lotion that my mother had gotten at the market. Got dressed. Ate breakfast. Sat on the couch and waited. Practiced my message in Callivax. Ran through everything in my head two million and three times. Prayed.

  At six a.m., just as the morning lights were beginning to glow, I tapped my indicator and netted Gerome with a simple message: I’m ready.

  Two hours later, Gerome came to collect me from my house. My parents watched me go with more pride than concern in their eyes, standing in the hall as Gerome and I walked away.

  Each step I took was fraught with worry. I agonized over every aspect of the plan, ending each thought with a prayer: Please don’t let me kill this man. Please let him understand Callivax. Please let them let me go in there
to move his body. Please don’t let us get caught.

  We took the elevator down. I stood in silence, watching the numbers track down as we drew closer and closer to the floor, the vice-like grip of fear slowly tightening around my heart. Halfway down, Gerome broke the silence, reminding me that he was still there.

  “I’m happy you finally came to terms with what you must do,” he said. “You’re going to make a model Knight, Liana.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied, keeping my eyes forward. Inwardly, I seethed at his words. Murder shouldn’t make anyone a model anything. If this was what our society had come to—murdering those who didn’t quite conform or fit in—then maybe the destruction of our world had been well deserved. Nothing could justify what they were doing down below—I didn’t care how much rhetoric they spat at me.

  “Yes, well... I can see you rising to Knight Elite within a month. I’ll be surprised if they don’t automatically award you the rank when you become a full Knight.”

  “It’s my honor to serve.”

  Gerome smiled, his teeth flashing white, and all I could think about was that poor woman he’d poisoned in the chamber. I looked away and kept my head down, the words I wanted to scream at him locked tight behind a cage of teeth, jaw, and determination to rescue Grey.

  The elevator came to a halt, and we stepped out and began moving down the familiar hall. This time the rooms were not empty. They were also, as I came to realize, not soundproof. The screams, cries, and whimpers were their own form of agony. Hearing the desperation and the pleading made me feel complicit in their capture—and subsequent torture.

  I couldn’t look into the rooms, though, for fear of getting lost in the fact that I couldn’t save the people suffering there. I didn’t have the manpower, the resources, or the opportunity. Which meant they were all going to die.

  If I managed to pull this off, the first thing I was going to do was find a way of showing this to the council, and hopefully put a stop to it. The laws were clear about execution—so the fact that it was happening was deplorable. But the idea that the Knights were responsible? It was... catastrophic. They’d have to get to the bottom of it.

  Unless they knew. Everyone put their faith in Scipio, and these orders came from him. What if everyone already knew—and wasn’t doing anything about it? Was on board with it?

  Something’s wrong with Scipio, my brother’s whispered message shouted in the back of my mind. Maybe this was what my brother had been talking about—that Scipio had convinced the council that killing ones was the only way to keep the Tower safe. They would’ve gone along with it, if he presented enough evidence to support it. But Scipio wasn’t supposed to do that; human life was supposed to be protected. That was his function.

  I put the worrisome thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. I could dwell on the problem with Scipio and the council later. Grey was the priority right now.

  Gerome led the way to the door and finally came to a stop. “There’s something I need to warn you about.”

  I looked up sharply. The last thing I needed today was a surprise.

  He must have misinterpreted my discomfort, because he said, “Nothing to do with the one, I promise you. However, you will have a special guest.”

  “A guest?” I echoed, puzzled. My parents weren’t coming, and the Knights wouldn’t want Zoe or anyone else to know what they were doing down here... There was no one else it could be, except for Alex.

  That thought would’ve brought me to a complete and utter stop if we’d been moving. As it was, I was having a difficult time staying upright. The thought of my brother being there, watching... That would mean he knew about it, and—

  I forced myself to stop. I was being paranoid. Alex didn’t know anything about this. I was sure of it.

  “Yes,” Gerome said, a small frown gracing his features. “When his schedule allows, he likes to be present for a Squire’s first execution. He—”

  “Likes to make sure that the right people end up where they belong,” a second voice finished smoothly from behind us.

  I spun, and for a moment it was all I could do to stop my jaw from slamming to the floor. The figure before me was a man unbent by age. His silvering hair was tied back in a tight knot, his goatee clipped to a careful point. A hooked nose speared out from between bright, glittering, dual-colored eyes—one blue and one brown—which looked down on me with a hint of judgment. He wore a broach in the shape of a silver hand closing around an eye.

  Champion Devon Alexander, head of our department. The Champion of Six Bells, and the Defender of the Gate, so named for the feats he had completed during the Tourney the Tower held to select new Champions.

  “This is Squire Castell, Knight Commander Nobilis?”

  Gerome nodded, seemingly unfazed by the man’s arrival. “Squire Liana Castell, Champion Devon. Daughter of Silas and Holly Castell, two of your highest-ranked Knight Commanders.”

  I was doing everything I could not to start shaking. This was the guest? A council member and one of the most powerful men in the Tower? His bravery knew no ends, if the stories were to be believed.

  The man reached out a gloved hand, and before I knew what was happening he had cupped my chin, turning my face this way and that like an apple he was inspecting for bruises. I let it happen without protest. Now, more than ever, I needed to be nine material. One misstep, and Devon would be onto me.

  “I can see the resemblance,” he said, abruptly releasing my head. “She has Silas’s stoicism. She was a twin, was she not?”

  “Yes, but third-born.”

  “Really?” Devon’s voice was high, almost incredulous. “What happened there?”

  “Scipio spared her.”

  Devon’s eyes darted toward me, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of apprehension, and wondered what it could possibly be. Scipio’s will was normally treated as a blessing, not something to fear. For him to react that way... It was really weird and off-putting.

  “You must feel very blessed,” he said after a moment, and I nodded, keeping my features as expressionless as possible.

  “Scipio granted me my life. It’s only proper that I use that life to serve him as well as I can.”

  Devon smiled, a tight-lipped thing, and Gerome coughed softly into his fist. “Shall we?” he asked, activating the door.

  It slid open, and I held back to allow both of them through. I moved in behind them and closed the door, sealing us in. My eyes darted to the walls, looking for the light switch and finding it on the other side of the room. All I had to do was go over to it, “accidentally” turn it on, and pray that Grey remembered the Callivax lessons we had been given when we were young.

  I looked over to see Gerome and Devon going over a file together—likely Grey’s, which would probably need Devon’s seal of approval—and took the opportunity, striding quickly to the light switch and turning to lean my back against the wall. My eyes darted around the room to Gerome and Devon. Devon was placing his thumb on Gerome’s pad when I applied pressure to the switch and the room lit up.

  Grey immediately rose to his feet, and I watched as his eyes slid over Gerome and Devon, finally landing on me.

  “What the—”

  I hurriedly began signing to Grey as the two other men looked up at the bulbs, still unaware of what had caused them to activate.

  P-l-a-y a-l-o-n-g. I signed this using the Callivaxian alphabet, rather than any of the more complicated signs that the Divers were fluent in. All citizens of the Tower received rudimentary training in each department’s language, but it was when we were young, and many people forgot them from lack of use. I signed it once, then again, and kept signing it, meeting his gaze and then looking pointedly at my hand down by my thigh. Praying he would understand what I was trying to tell him. Praying that he’d get it before it was too late.

  “Liana, you’re on the switch!” Gerome suddenly exclaimed.

  I jerked with faux surprise and turned around, immediately flipping the
switch and killing the lighting.

  “I apologize,” I said, trying to work just a smidge of mortification into my voice. “I didn’t realize. Do you think... Do you think he saw me?”

  I turned, keeping my face neutral, but with just a taste of apprehension.

  Devon and Gerome both stared at me, and then Gerome gave me a friendly smile. “It won’t matter—he’ll be dead soon.”

  “Yeah, about that.” I sucked down a deep breath and grounded myself, preparing to spin my fair share of lies. “Sir, I want to collect his body afterward.”

  Gerome and Devon exchanged baffled looks, and I barreled on. “My father and I were talking about this last night, and he told me that one of his Squires asked him the same thing once. My father, understandably, was confused at the time, of course, because he wasn’t sure why. So he asked the Squire, and he said, ‘If I kill this man, then it is my responsibility to see that his remains are treated with the utmost respect, for this is the last service he will perform for the Tower, and that is important.’”

  “Who was this?” Devon asked, blinking over at Gerome, and Gerome shrugged.

  “Not entirely sure, but the story sounds familiar.”

  I blinked and managed not to smile, but Gerome’s acknowledgement had unwittingly given me validation. Too bad the story was a complete lie.

  “When my father told me about it, I realized that was how I could cope with what I had to do here today. I want to remember these people for the sacrifice they made.”

  Gerome looked expectantly at Devon, and the older man stared at me, his eyes hard. “It seems like a reasonable request, but I fear you humanize them too much.”

  I fear you don’t humanize them at all. While Gerome’s participation in this was, in the loosest way possible, understandable, Devon’s was not. He was a man who could actually change things in the Tower, but decided not to. And that made him worse in my eyes than anyone else involved in this monstrosity.